Quite funny listing, if dinky. Consider blovia:
Google shows this morning 452 million hits for "Wikileaks."
One year ago the hits were about 300,000.
Two years ago the hits were about 100,000.
Three years the hits were about 5,000.
Four years ago, the hits were less than zero, the hit hurrah machine
overloaded with richochets, spam, precursors of sock-puppetry and
blog-amoebia.
Five years ago Julian Assange was being stalked by Asian teens, he
says. Looking for squinty gash, he moans. Not appealing, the chicks
giggled, he stink.
Six years ago Julian Assange had an idea for a leak site, registered
the name leak.org. Pounding his IQ.org with thoughts and plans for
Ghandian, Gramsian prison redux.
Seven years ago Julian Assange was at a loss about what to do with
his less than zero life. Not for long. Angry bile was seeping to the
noggin top. His hair turning white with skull concussive Eurekas!
Hurrahs aborning.
Eight years ago Julian Assange was completing a world travel trip
during which he wrote essays about what the world needed, a soothseer.
Fore and aft SDTs were itching. Home remedies applied, Dr, Gurus
galore. Far eastern poultices and hickory stick whacking. Hurt
lockering, go down dick.
Nine years ago Julian assange was in the midst of a world travel trip.
Money almost gone. Pan-sexual services bartered for house and food.
Condoms aweigh, youth conquers all.
Ten years ago Julian Assange was fed up with online meandering and
planned a world trap to clear his mind. Lovelorn, aching with shame,
diseased mind and body. Penile weariness, so many hackers, so many
holes.
Eleven years ago Julian Assange ... and so on with
auto-ficitonalization.
Now ensconced and ankled bejeweled in a country estate, the media
begging for his blovia, Julian is defiant, a century of anger ready
for tapping, he keens, he says it again, his media sock-puppets
repeats ad nauseum, his precious hornyisms sock-rocketed by Google 500
million times and soon, he warns, thermonuclear armageddon.
The aged little girls and guys swoon and scream as if it was the 60s
again when Youth reigned futurelessly.
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